


A Kinder Cut

by Maybethings



Series: May Be Promptin' [43]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Birthday Presents, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:05:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maybethings/pseuds/Maybethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Promptfic. Shale gives Sten a gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kinder Cut

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iapetus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iapetus/gifts).



“What are you doing?” Shale asks him when she sees him hacking at his braids with a blunt dagger, fingers cold and stiff in the Fereldan morning.

He pauses with his struggle to regard her blandly. “What does it look like?”

“I shall rephrase. Why are you doing that to your hair?” She likes his braids—the way they rise and fall with his steps, the tight, regular pattern of them, the way he flings blood and sweat off them with one quick flick of his head. He probably doesn’t even know he does it—which she appreciates, nevertheless.

“If I calculate correctly, then it is my nameday.” It has been a long time since he held a proper calendar in his hands—this is his best guess. He gives the last braid one final hack and grunts, not very satisfied. The loose snips of hair go into the fire, where they burn quickly. “This is the ritual of my people.”

“Hrm,” Shale says thoughtfully.

That night at the campfire, the golem stomps up to him. “Hold out your hand,” she commands, and places a large whetstone in his palm. Large for a human, anyway. It’s just right for his palm and his dagger. “It’s too late for your hair now. But perhaps it will be useful for your next nameday.”

“I—thank you, kadan. Where did you find this?”

“Cadash Thaig. It is something we picked up out of one of the houses. I crushed a hurlock and pried it out of its fingers. Do you like it?”

He turns it over in his hands, nothing the archaic dwarven runes upon it. “It is pleasing,” he says, and Shale beams as much as her stone cheeks will allow.


End file.
